Miss de Medina could not shake off an oppressive suspicion which had forced itself upon her. She fancied that she was watched;—and, for the simple reason that she knew nothing of the old man and the lad, her uneasiness increased into actual alarm.
This feeling was enhanced, too, when her quick ears caught the rumbling sound of another vehicle behind: and she began to blame herself for having ventured abroad at such an hour.
Then she reasoned with herself that no harm could possibly happen to her in the midst of a densely populated city, and while people were walking about in all directions:—but still, in spite of this attempt at self-assurance, the pale countenance of the lad and the sinister looks of the old man haunted her like spirits of evil.
But in a few minutes the hackney-coach entered Holborn; and the blaze of light—the bustle—the throng of vehicles—the crowd of foot-passengers—and the animated appearance of the whole scene, dispelled nearly all her alarms.
The vehicle draw up nearly at the corner of Fetter Lane; and Esther alighted.
Another hackney-coach stopped simultaneously at a short distance; and her eyes were immediately directed towards it.
"Here's the post-office, ma'am," said the driver of the vehicle which she had hired.
Miss de Medina started—recollected herself—and hastened to thrust into the letter-box the epistle which she had written ere she left home.
The address on that epistle was—"T. R., No. 5, Brandon Street, Lock's Fields."
This superscription was caught by the sharp eyes of the pale-faced boy, who had stolen—quick as thought—up to the shop-window, and now stood by Esther's side as she dropped the letter into the box.